


Strike a pose

by Chillary_from_Cartagena



Category: Political RPF - US 20th c., Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10357278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillary_from_Cartagena/pseuds/Chillary_from_Cartagena
Summary: This is the story of some compromising pictures. The first chapter is "mostly clean" and very well researched, while the second one is smut.





	1. The mostly clean one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi girlssss! I’m back! It took me a while to write this and I’m still not 100% happy with it, but I was tired of re reading it so you’ll be the judge. By the way, if someone wants to remix this fic basing themselves on the same concept or just some things in the first chapter, please do! The more the merrier!  
> Anyway, as you see, I’ve divided the fic in two chapters: the first has no smut (just some innuendo), while the second is smutty, so if you don’t like where I’m going you can just read the first one. For this first part, I’ve relied on some sources (a LOT of sources). They’re very interesting, imo, so I’ll link them in a comment to the first chapter, so that only the interested people are subjected to them. I’ve written the chapter after having read the NYTimes articles I quote, so if you aren’t very clear on what happens there, you can go to read the articles and everything should become clear. Anyway, sorry for the long introduction, please, enjoy!

Monday, January 16th 1995 – Martin Luther King’s Birthday; national holiday / Camp David

“So, what did they say, baby?”

“They’ve let me search the chest - I have found the pictures and I have shredded them. They were right at the bottom, so hopefully no one’s seen them… can you imagine what a mess it would have created? And with the State of the Union so close, we don’t need distractions from the real problems of the American people and the accomplishments of your Administration. Plus, next year’s election! I shudder at the thought those images could have been plastered all over the tabloids. Why the hell was I so naïve?”

“I mean, baby… from what I gather every student of our era was. Those “posture pictures” were presented to you as a medical procedure and you know how the white-coat effect works: if a doctor tells you to do it, you don’t question it too much. I was just lucky that by the time we got to Yale the practice had been discontinued,  otherwise I would have been worrying too that some of mine were possibly around. Anyway, baby, I’m just glad this new headache is over. Come here, I want to give you a hug.”

                             

It was just what she needed.

The discovery in a New York Times article that tons of those naked “posture pictures” of Ivy league alumni - hers included - still existed, buried deep in the archives of the Smithsonian Institute, had been a shock and a great source of worry for her. She had been already dragged by the Republicans in every possible way and the mere thought that anyone of them could have, in theory, invaded her privacy – and worse, her much younger self’s privacy – in such an intimate way by uncovering those snaps was sickening.

She relished Bill’s soothing hug and she thanked the heavens that the story had broken while they still were at Camp David on holiday, so she had had the chance to move quickly - out of the public’s scrutiny - to make sure that the nude posture pictures from her freshman year at Wellesley were quietly disposed of.

 

When she had first arrived at the school, in fact, the students had been accompanied to the gym, where they had been required to strip naked while some nurses attached shot metal rods with a flat base to the curve of their spine and to their sternum.

Then, they had been called one by one by name and had been asked to step on a raised platform, surrounded by some kind of stage lights, in front of a camera. Next to the photographic apparatus, a bald man with glasses and a white medical coat had barked instructions at them, while jutting down notes on a clipboard.

The procedure per se hadn’t been traumatic:

“Front!” -flash- “Left side!” -flash- “Right side!” -flash- “Back!” -flash- it had all been over in five minutes or so.

It was something everyone went through, she didn’t give too much thought to it, unless when one of those urban legends of people breaking into the archives and finding them resurfaced.

She had had enough friends at Yale to know that the worst rumors about those pictures (they were sold to freshmen, sold to professors, sold in the red lights district) were false, but still she got a shiver down her spine at the thought that she had avoided a mess of huge proportions and they had come so close to be available for everyone to see.

Her saving grace had been the kindness of the journalist who had written the article, who had not delved into the chest containing the pictures at the Smithsonian to try and find her photo and smuggle it out of the institution’s archives.

 

Bill was rocking her lightly and when he saw she was reasonably alright he thought the best way to put this behind them was to joke about it: “While you were there, sweetie, did you by any chance look for pics of the Bushes?”  
“Why?”

“Well, I’ve made their father a one term president, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them wanted to run in the future. It’s a dirty trick, but you know the Republicans would have used your picture against us in the ’96 election. It’s only fair…”

“ _Bill_! I will not lower myself to their tactics, you know that!”

“Alright, baby! And then, I guess, my plan could have backfired…”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…  maybe you would have fallen in love with strapping George Bush jr. and I would have been left without a first lady!”

“Oh, Bill, _him_?!? Gosh, I didn’t know you thought so little of my taste in men!”

“Who knows… I know you like your men to be smart – like a gentleman from Arkansas I know - but you might have discovered other _qualities_ of him. You said these posture pictures were nudes, didn’t you?”

She blushed. “Yes.”

“Yeah, then what if you had discovered he was hung like a horse and…”

“ _Bill_!”

“I mean, if you had gotten his picture and he had some huge “assets”, we couldn’t have leaked them because it would have only increased his popularity! ”

“Oh, boy” she was getting redder by the second, both because she was picturing her and Bill looking shocked at a little square of photographic paper and because she was laughing so hard at her husband’s reasoning. “If we follow your train of thought, then, I guess I am glad there isn’t a naked picture of you in your 20s around: you would have leaked it yourself in a second!”

“Aww! Thanks, babe! I’m absolutely flattered! It implies you have realized that I am… what did I say?”

“Hung like a horse.”

“Yeah, hung like a horse!” he exclaimed, laughing and wriggling his brows suggestively.

Now that the lingering worry of the picture’s existence had worn down, she found herself enjoying their easy laughs and wanted to go on with their playful banter. Drawing from the line he had just proffered, she added, sliding her body closer to his, her chest pressed against his own, rising on tiptoes to whisper in his ear:

“Well, I certainly like to ride you, so that comparison is only fair”

“Ohhh, Rodham…” he breathed out before pressing her body tighter to his and kissing her passionately.

 

They lingered in their embrace for a while longer, slowly drawing their tongues in a hot twining, holding each other with relishment in their touch and reveling in the other’s warmth. Bill was the first to break their blissful abandon, putting a couple of inches between their lips and murmuring in mock disappointment against her soft hair he was now kissing:

“Although, love, I was thinking…you could have brought those photos back to me, why did you destroy them? I mean, I would have been _extremely_ happy to get a peak…”

“ _Bill_! You are incorrigible! I had _metal rods_ stuck to me, you wouldn’t have liked them - trust me. Anyway, I wouldn’t have anything against you getting them, but you know that this house has eyes basically everywhere. Do you remember that time they searched our private apartments without telling us beforehand?”

“Yeah” he suddenly got in a somber mood again: that instance had been particularly painful for both of them, but for Hillary in particular.

Her father had just died and during the time they had been away for his funeral, the agents had upheveled their private rooms, without even telling them of their covert operation - either before or even after the fact - like the two of them were some common criminals.

Hillary had noticed there was something off in their apartments and had asked for explanations. Begrudgingly, they had been given to her: the agents were looking for bugs and had been very careless and inconsiderate in their search, even cutting a gash in a wooden television cabinet.  All their private possessions had been rummaged through too and Hillary had been particularly upset to discover it, given the taxing moment of grief she was living in the first place.

She had even found that her lingerie drawer had been searched too and she had almost felt like puking at the thought that now an unspecified agent knew the exact shade of pink she preferred for her panties.

He hugged her tighter and whispered “You’re right, baby” kissing the top of her head softly and cradling her in his big, warm, hands.

 

***

 

The following days went on in a flurry of activity; everything had to be rehearsed to perfection before the State of the Union and they almost had no time to catch their breaths. Finally, the 24th of January came and passed and a couple of days later another article, right before the NGA dinner, told them that all the pictures in possession of the Smithsonian had been destroyed by the institution.

 

“Probably after they’ve searched for yours with no avail” – said Bill, still bitter that it had taken so long for the historic institution to realize that keeping the naked pictures of unsuspecting citizens for all those years hadn’t been the best course of action.

“Baby, I’m so glad this whole mess is over and we don’t have to worry that some Yale-bred Attorney General somewhere has a picture of you as part of his secret stash”.

“Yes, that’s true” she added with a chuckle “but I know one particular former _“Yale-bred Attorney General”_ I would have gladly lent them to…”

He smiled mischievously and responded, lowering his voice “You know how on the 3rd of February you’ve got the “Wellesley class of ’69” reception? Well, it’s a Friday and then we have the weekend free from institutional obligations, so... how about we reminisce together and maybe make our own version? What do you think about that?”

“Well… what did you have in mind, specifically?”

“Oh… if you want to, you could let me take some - uhmm - posture pictures? And before you say anything, if you agree to it, I’m going to throw the film away afterwards - I‘m not going to keep it around the house because it’s too dangerous - but having an actual camera kinda adds to the scenario.”

She bit her lip to keep herself form smiling too widely at his eagerness. Actually, the idea was starting to sound enticing – another one of those little games to spice things up between them.

“Ok, I’m in! But… can I roleplay as Diane? Because you know that actual Wellesley me would have punched you in the face, had the photographer tried to put his hands on me in like that.”

 

He groaned: the mere idea of her playing innocent was already getting him excited. When she feigned  to be naïve she was always such a tease. She enjoyed to no end watching him squirm as he tried to control himself: sometimes she was just too sexy, she made him almost come in his pants when she “absentmindedly” gave him a generous view of the deep V of her dress while picking up some fallen books or “got caught” doing all that dirty deeds a good girl like her alter ego wasn’t supposed to even know about, like sticking her fingers deep into her pussy while trying to stifle her moans of pleasure by biting down on her fist.

“Oh, gosh, Hillary, do you even need to ask?” he exhaled in a long breath, trying to store away the titillating mages that now were flooding his brain, as thry were threatening to give him an embarrassing hard on right then and there, “I really can’t wait for the weekend to come”.

She eyed him with a cheeky expression, having noted the state she had put him in just by alluding at their future activities and she replied in a rich, sexy timbre:

“Mmh, me too… _this_ ” she brushed against the front of his trousers to palm his hardening cock, “is already very promising. I can’t wait to see what will happen on Saturday. I’ll set up the scene and then send you a note, alright?”

He swallowed, trying to keep himself from jerking at the contact, and could only nod and gulp. If he tried to open his mouth to talk he knew she would sense she had already rendered him out of breath.

“That’s set. See you later, honey” she chirped with a grin, then she kissed him on the cheek, whilst giving his cock a quick squeeze, and left the room chuckling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know exactly where this is going: if you didn’t like the role play in my previous fic “Stress Relief” you should probably stop reading here. (Btw, it is *not* required reading for this fic, don’t worry). For all the others… *eyebrow wriggle* the shy and naïve girl trope is back: here comes the smut! ;D  
> By the way, for the people who still don't know that: I am not a native speaker, so sorry for any glaring mistakes!


	2. The smutty one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The visual in my head while writing this and picturing Hillary's clothing was the 1950s-themed birthday party of Hillary's of which I’ve seen some pictures on Tumblr. And alert for totally unprofessional behavior from “doctor Clinton” :P but heyyy what wouldn’t I do to write smut?

Diane entered the ornate room tentatively. She was intimidated by the place and by the luxury it exuded: she knew Wellesley college was a lauded institution, where traditional roots were still very evident, despite the new wave of liberism that had recently swept the country. And this formality she was going to subject herself to was part of that: an asessment of her posture, in order to evaluate the kinks in her stance to correct through physical education classes, so that no Wellesley girl would get out of the college with that awful slouch she got in with.

She advanced slowly, holding her messenger bag with both hands before her, her long pink skirt rustling softly around her ankles. A gray-haired man standing next to the camera nodded his head in acknowledgement of her and said “Diane Rodham?”

“Yes, that’s me”

“Ok, I just needed to check that your name matched our files. Did anyone explain the procedure to you?”

She shook her head in a negative gesture. In a small voice, her head bent in shame at her ignorance because she thought she could have asked one of the older girls for delucidations, but with eyes nonetheless directed towards the handsome stranger she asked: “They’ve just said that you need to take some pictures of my posture. Do I need to sit on that chair?”

His chuckle was low and alluring. “No, honey” he dragged out in his cajoling southern accent “first you have to take off your clothes”

 

Diane’s face was shocked. Yes, it was a medical procedure, but she still was a proper young girl and thought that this radical disrobing was totally unwarranted for the task at hand. Especially if the examiner was the blue-eyed male nurse (or doctor, she wasn’t sure since he was wearing plain clothes), that was now squaring her up from head to toe with his piercing gaze.

“Mr…” “Clinton, _doctor_ Clinton”

“Doctor Clinton…is there a way to do this another day, maybe with a female nurse? I’m a little bit uncomfortable doing this with a male examiner”

“Sorry doll, I’ve received precise instructions by my supervisor, who is the one who will ultimately get the pictures. We’re doing some statistical data pooling about the health of American students your age, and I know how the protocol for the pictures works: I know how many and in which poses I have to take them and we don’t have the time to train a nurse for your all-girls college specifically. I’m here only for two days”

“Ok…” she added, still unsure. He placed one of his big, warm, hands on the small of her back and he prodded her towards the high-backed chair to the left of the camera, his fingers running lightly on the tight belt that gripped her tiny waist, its strictly wrung length like an outward reminder of her puritan view of the world.

“Come on, girl… you can start undressing now, just place the clothes on the back of that chair. Now take off that skirt”

She fiddled with the opening of the tight belt that constricted her waist, then slid it slowly out of the belt loops. Now free from its constriction, she took a deeper breath, her chest rising evidently, providing a wonderful spectacle for the man’s eyes.

She toed her loafers away and stretched her little toes. Looking in the direction of the man, she realized his feet were enormous, as everything about him: he towered over her and she felt a little intimidated by his looming presence.

He wasn't keeping too close, but she still felt observed, so she presented her back to him and opened her skirt, sliding it down of her legs: unbeknownst to her, he got a very alluring eyeful of her firm, peachy asscheeks and the panties hugging tightly her wide backside which highlighted her luscious feminine curves.

He felt a jolt to his cock at the show before him: she was perfect, but her shy behavior seemed to betray a lingering insecurity about her body.

“Good… _very good_. Now take off your shirt, sweetie”

With her back still to him, she opened the garment slowly, one button at the time, and when she was done unbuttoning, she brushed the shirt off her shoulders, but still kept her arms inside the sleeves, folding the top of the shirt and exposing just her upper back: now the clothing item was limply hanging from her arms and covering her ass.

She turned her head to give him a side-glance and asked in a small voice: “Is this enough?  Because you can see my back anyway so I don't need to… “

“I'm sorry, honey, you’ll have to strip down naked.”

He stepped closer, his body now mere inches from hers and he splayed his hand firmly touching her lower back, fingers just dipping under the elastic band of her panties, touching the slight bump that could be felt right where her buttocks began.

He neared his profile to her ear, deeply inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo and whispering firmly to her.

“Do you feel this?” he circled the small knot with his fingers “this is the coccyx and it’s where your spine ends. I need to get pictures of your _whole_ spine. Now listen to me for the last time: strip, naked.”

 

He removed his hand from her panties and brought them to her shoulders, lightly massaging them up and down, before adding:

“Come on, first _this_ ” he moved his hands roughly down her arms to divest her of her shirt “and then _this_ ” he opened the clasp of her bra and her hands shot protectively in front of her breasts, while he continued to slide the straps down her shoulders.

He added in his singsong voice “Oh, c’mon, young lady! I’ve seen plenty of naked women in my life, you don’t need to be such a prude. Your classmates before you weren’t this shy and you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of - you’ve got such a nice body, you should be proud of it.”

 

She was still hesitant, but she needed to know if his appreciation of her figure was genuine, since she’d always had a difficult report with her body: “Do you think so? Even compared to my classmates, I mean?”

“Hell, yes. Your boyfriend must be awfully happy” he saw her bend her head forwards, her eyes closed, in a gesture of shame, nevertheless she let go of the bra, even though she still kept her arms crossed over her chest “what’s up, love, did I say something wrong? Don’t you have someone?”

“Well, yes, I do… kinda… it’s just that… he’s never seen me, actually he’s never even tried to... you know? So I thought I must be too ugly, because that’s what boys do when they like you, isn’t it? They try to get you to… uhm…”

He chuckled lightly. “What’s this boy’s name?”

“Jeff, _Jeff Blythe_. Actually it’s short for Jefferson.”

A sparkle lit in his eyes: “And what do you and… _Jeff_ do when you go out together?”

“Oh, you know, we go to art galleries or bookshops, or museums. He’s a very proper young man”

”Is he? Alright…” he mumbled while fiddling with the tripod where the camera was mounted, then looked into the focus and ordered to her:

“Turn with your front to the camera and drop your panties” – for the first time she obliged without question.

 

He raked his eyes over her hourglass shape: her waist was mouthwatering, tiny and flaring perfectly into her womanly hips. The curly patch of hair of her sex was an invitation to part it to explore the sweetness of her folds and the darker coloring that could be spotted at the centre of her panties, now on the ground, betrayed her wet arousal.

He pretended to focus on the task at hand and snapped the first picture, ordering her to turn her back to the camera.

“Good. Now spread your legs to align them to your shoulders – good – and poke your ass out a bit, I need to see that curve – that’s right” that was the first step. He snapped. Now the transition needed to be smooth if he wanted to have some nice mementos of the girl to keep for himself.

“Now get in front of the chair and place your hands on the back of it, stretching your arms. That’s right” she was so wonderfully compliant now, following his orders without question, giving him a most exciting view of her plump buttocks.

Still, it wasn’t nearly enough for him: “Spread your legs wider, go a bit lower…” now that was more like it: her glistening sex was splayed out before him and he felt his arousal grow. If he were quick enough, he could have stuck his throbbing cock balls deep into her in one smooth movement and she wouldn’t have had time to realise his intentions.

He moved to the side to watch her silhouette, seemingly checking the curve of her spine, eyeing her full boobs now uncovered by her arms hanging free for his eyes to appreciate.

“Arch your back a little more, I want to see how mobile your spine is” yeah, or whatever bullshit that would give him a fuller, sexier view of her pink pussy.

He returned to the camera and snapped.

God, he so wanted to grip those flanks and drive himself so deep into her to hit her cervix.

He was a big man and the thought of her sweet cunt swallowing his whole length was the most arousing image he could conjure up right now, closely followed by her mouth doing the same, lips humming around his base while she deepthroated him.

He wished he were twenty again: at that time he could have taken her for hours, his little playdoll, so pliant, so submissive, so ready to be tied, spanked, gagged and endlessly teased. He liked to do all kinds of stuff to her when she was in the mood to obey his every order.

 

He came closer to her, placed himself right behind her buttocks and began to sensually run a long finger down her spine: “I’m just checking if you have any kinks.”

The movement and his innuendo made her shiver and gave her goosebumps, he switched his index with both his hands and ran them down her spine again, now palming her column and the skin near it, splaying his palms over her scapulae and running them down along the contour of her tiny waist. She let out a moan and bent her head, but in doing so she also moved her ass fractionally back and it came in contact with the front of his trousers. She felt his arousal press hot and thick against her butt and she wriggled her cheeks rubbing on it.

“Diane…mmh…have you ever had sex, with Jeff?”

“No…” her voice was a bit trembling “Not with Jeff, but… someone spiked the punch at prom night and I guess… I guess I got a bit drunk so… I didn’t like it much though”

“Why not?” he said now gripping her flank tighter to keep them connected, licking his lips, but still not pressing her fully against him.

“It hurt… but sometimes…sometimes it’s like I miss it?” he groaned, she knew just how to awaken his imagination “I get all hot and wet down there and I think I want to feel that fullness again, even though I’m scared it would hurt. But I’ve found a way to make it stop on my own.”

“Have you? Would you mind showing me? I swear it, all that happens here is confidential, I’m a doctor, I’m used to keeping secrets…”

“Uhm-uhm” she agreed and she got up from her bent position, then she approached the large king-sized bed in the room and advanced on it on all fours to retrieve a small decorative pillow placed among the sleeping ones.

She laid the pillow in the middle of the bed and she straddled it, still presenting her back to Bill. “I’ve noticed that if I rub on it like this the craving goes away a bit. Not always, though: sometimes it just makes me want it more”. She started to hump the pillow slowly but with increasing tempo, bucking her hips to rub her clit against it, sometimes switching from her back and forth motion to circling her hips.

She was mewling little noises of pleasure and she started to thrust more forcefully, squeezing her thighs together around the pillow, throwing her head back and exposing her white neck, mouth opening to exhale pleasurable “Aaahs” and then hanging limply while a jolt of pleasure shot down her spine.

 

First Lady of the United States, now more like Lady Godiva, riding naked on a pillow, he thought.

 

He couldn’t take the teasing anymore. He divested himself of his clothes and now, with his erection standing firm, precum glistening from his slit, he too climbed on the bed behind her and gripped her body possessively from behind, his hands roaming to finally grab her white breasts and tease her dark nipples to a peak.

He wrapped one hand around her hips and brought her back in contact with his crotch. His length was now snugly between her buttcheeks, fitting lenghtwise in her crack, the warmth of her now seeping trough: a taste of what awaited him when he’d finally manage to penetrate her.

 

She had thrown her head back on his shoulder and he was holding her neck extended with one hand fitted under her chin, so he could to place a trail of kisses and nips on all its length, while his other hand roamed from teasing her nipples to caressing her belly and dipping between her legs to stroke her throbbing nub.

He whispered in her ear:“So… do you want me to show you how good it can feel, when the right cock fucks you?”

“Yes”

“I promise, you’ll be screaming my name when I’m finised with you”

“Yes”

“and you’ll come back for more”

He dipped his fingers inside of her, curling them so to hit her G spot and bit on her neck at the same time

“Aah! O God, yes! Yes! Please fuck me!” desperation and neediness colored her voice, he continued to finger her while she was now whimpering “Fuck me, fuck me, I _need_ you to fuck me, Bill, Biiiill!”

 

He obliged. Answering her pleas, he cupped her sex and tugged her higher, to signal she should rise on her knees. He aligned his cock to her opening, tip massaging her slit before he dragged her down once again, roughly, to impale her on his throbbing cock.

She screamed with a mix of pain and pleasure at the fullness she’d been denied for so long and he started to drill her relentlessly, deeper and deeper, until he was entirely embedded into her.

After the shock and a wail at his careless (but so excitingly rough) first deep thrusts, she started to move up and down his lenght relishing every slam of her flesh against his, as she was keeping count of how many gruff grunts she managed to tear from his lips.

In this position he could still touch her wherver he wanted and he tugged her head back by gripping her hair in his hand to free her neck and bite repitedly on it. She’d have to wear foulards for a while, but he wasn’t thinking about the logistics it all: his brain was just following instinct and he felt the need to mark his mate for the whole world to see.

He felt her knees were starting to give out, because she was getting overwhelmed by pleasure, so with an abrupt move he lowered her upper body to the mattress, one hand on the back of her neck to keep her face pressed to the mattress, her ass up in the air and his cock rythmycally disappearing between the juicy folds of her tight pussy.

His other hand was gripping her hip to help his thrusting motion and wandered to stroke her clitoris, while the change in angle provided a more thorough stimulation of her G spot.

She could not be articulate anymore: the combined stimulation was overwhelming her brain and she could only lie there and take it, with her open mouth panting against the mattress while her legs turned to jelly.

A delicious pressure built up in her lower abdomen, starting from her depths to finally explode through her body with another brush of his tip against her walls.

”Aaah! Biiill! Aahh!” she scrunched her eyes closed and a couple of tears fell too, when the all-encompassing sensation overwhelmed her.

From the hot point coinciding with her sex came waves of hair-raising goosebumps, like invisible fingers caressing, pressing, tugging, gripping, stroking her everywhere.

Bill’s own cries soon intermixed with her moans, a string of profanities along with his wife’s name the only coherent thing his brain could still supply to him:

“Fuck Hillary! Fuck, oh, oh, fuck you feel so good, so tight…oh, fuck… Hillary, Hillaryyy!!”.

He drove his last thrust home and spurted his thick seed inside of her, relishing the release and still amazed, after all this time, that she was willing to be marked: his bites, his seed, his smell all over her.

It’s true humans didn’t have a keen sense of smell anymore, but in any other species there wouldn’t be a doubt that this woman was his and his alone.

After having emptied himself and have withdrawn his softening member from her hot, wet depths, he stretched himself on the bed  and watched her slump forward, now distended on the bed, bottom up, facing away from him as he had left her.

 

He observed her unmoving form for a little while, heart brimmng with the tenderness he felt for her.

Then it hit him. He hadn’t kissed her. A wave of uneasiness shot trough him: he hadn’t done it on purpose, it just didn’t fit the scenario before and then he got carried away and hadn’t really paid attention to ticking all the boxes.

He was just making sure she was enjoying it and all the rest had followed.

He felt so bad: just a second ago he was relishing the thought of having marked her as his… but those were just external signs for the world to see, what about marking his affection for her? Making it known to her, who ultimately was the one person he should be worried about?

 

He reached out to her and pulled her into his embrace, gathering her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head, but he still hadn’t glimpsed her face. Caressing her hair away from the side of her face, he tipped her chin up to finally gaze into her eyes.

He found her soft, loving, look directed at him.

A lone tear escaped the corner of his eye. He wasn’t too upset or emotional, but he guessed the overwhelming sensations of their coupling had taken their toll on him too.

He didn’t know if he should explain. Explain why the tear, why he didn’t kiss her, say once again how he loved her and that he was sorry… all of this whirring in his head got cut short by her: with an otherworldly softness, her face radiating love like an angelic vision, she pressed her lips to his in the sweetest, chaste, kiss lovers had ever exchanged on this earth.

She kissed him and kissed him again: his mouth, his cheeks, the closed lids of his eyes.

She nudged the tip of his nose with hers and then kissed him again, deeper this time, opening her mouth to allow his sweeping tongue in, just like she had done by opening her body to his touch.

He slowly dragged his tongue out, to dive back in once again, her muted “mmhs” music to his ears, his need for reassurance soothed by her touch just like water to the parched lips of a man in an oasis.

There was no need to clarify: such as in life there was a time to be horny teenagers and one to be sappy middle-agers, so in their love making one thing didn’t exclude the other.

And if they spent the rest of the night like an elderly couple, just holding hands and hugging, that was ok too.

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know why the surname of Jeff is Blythe without googling you get a candy for being such a good study :D  
> Anyway, yeah, I wrote the sex scene and then I realized I didn’t even make them kiss, so I felt hella bad and wrote the cuddling. I still feel like the magic of “Stress Relief” escapes me, but hey, at least I’m writing smut so… till next time, lovelies! And remember to let me know what you thought of it, I thrive on feedback!


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